


Out with the Old - In with the New Year

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Explicit Language, F/M, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jaime Belongs with Brienne, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, Mild Sexual Content, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Resolutions, New Years, One Shot, POV Jaime Lannister, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: It swelled inside his chest when he recollected Brienne's first gentle touch.  How he immediately drew it's parallel to the only other woman who had held him intimately.Gentler than Cersei.The Warrior Maiden was the Queen’s superior in so many ways.  Yes, her looks were indisputable, she was mannish, ungainly and large.  But when it came to the finer arts of womanhood – of compassion and tenderness.  Of empathy and kindness.  Brienne of Tarth was exemplary.What foolish men there were in the world.  What pieces of shit like Connington.  The dolts would never know of the sweet strokes of her healing hands, her soft palm upon a clammy brow, of fingers sluicing and combing water through a beard encrusted by vomit.That is a woman.  And to think I was almost one of those imbeciles.  If it hadn't been for the loss of my hand I would never know..../*\/*\/*\Upon New Year's Eve Jaime reflects upon his past and listens to his heart, the fates lending a helping hand to guide his resolution and deliver the Maid of Tarth to his arms.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 36
Kudos: 147





	Out with the Old - In with the New Year

**Author's Note:**

> It is New Year's Eve! So I round off 2019 (the year I launched into fic writing and never looked back) with a Jaime & Brienne New Year's Tale.  
> I dedicate this story to Braime Shipper's all over the world.  
> To my readers, to the friends I've made, to everyone who shines the light for our OTP.  
> May 2020 & GRRM bring justice to our ship, may it sail on smoother waters, Braime is endgame. It is known. <3
> 
> Happy New Year!  
> From Madelyn (NightReaderEnigma)

“What happens at midnight?” The guileless innocence of youth was enchanting. Innocuous comments and avid fascination with the most simplistic of notions able to remind him of simpler times before sin and corruption leeched into his soul. Tommen embodied this concept effortlessly, feigning alertness with wide eyes of emerald green which echoed his own. “Does something happen so you know it is the New Year?”

Jaime sighed, his chest heaving with conflicting emotions; torn somewhere between distancing himself from the boy and seizing the opportunity to bond. He had retired from his responsibilities as Lord Commander for the evening, handing over to one of the new recruits of the Kingsguard. But they were still clueless and green, strangers to Tommen and unknowing of His Grace’s boyish whims.

The Sworn Brother was soon stopped by Jaime in the hall, trailing an obstinate monarch who had other ideas than going to bed.

“Nothing happens.” The golden knight reassured the lad he was forced to call nephew, alighting on the side of the bed. His pristine leathers creaking slightly in the vast royal chamber. An unfamiliar noise to his ears – Jaime generally only found himself by the King’s side when he was on duty. The clanking of plate armour protecting both his body and his heart. “Everything remains exactly the same come midnight, only you are exceptionally tired the next morning for having stayed up so late.”

He tucked the blankets snugly around the boy King, noting the way his nest of blonde curls spread upon the pillow, striking an eerily similar resemblance to himself at the same age.

_My son…_

No. That was a dangerous thought. He never permitted the paternal instincts to find purchase. Seldom letting the sliver of his heart he reserved for his children unbolt and allowing affection to fill the void.

Tommen furrowed his young brow. “But I overheard some Squires in the yard… they were saying that it turns to daylight for an hour and that you hear the voices of the Gods! They thunder down and say the count of the New Year aloud and everyone trembles…”

Jaime chortled – he couldn’t help it. And the act only seemed to heighten Tommen’s dismay.

_Perhaps it is all for the best, I would not have made a very good Father if I laugh at him so openly._

“Tomm-“ The familiarity of his thought pattern loosened his tongue and he silently cursed himself for the slip. “Your Grace… did you ever stop to think they may be teasing? Do not be so quick to believe everything you hear. Weigh their words and assess the likelihood of them. Chances are they knew you were in earshot.”

“But it would make the turn of the year rather boring if it is untrue.”

“Correct. Dull and tedious just like everything else in life.” Then the knight grinned, adding conspiratorially. “Besides jousting…”

A secret thrill coursed through him at the brightness of the boy’s reaction. Whether acknowledged or ignored the shared blood in their veins propelled them towards the same pursuits. Undeniable in its own right. “So, tell me. Do you still think it’s true?”

“No. They were being silly.” Tommen was resolute, taking his contemplation and subsequent deduction very seriously. “Not because I wish to believe that a New Year is so uneventful – but because I believe you Uncle Jaime.” 

_Fuck._

He had not expected that tug on his heartstrings. The urge to guide and shelter his boy almost instinctual.

_Why does everything in my life have to be so complicated?_

Unknowing what to do, he settled upon re-tucking the blankets. The gesture the most he could muster without crossing an invisible line.

“Will you go to sleep now?”

“Yes.” Tommen replied, small fingers creeping forth with curiosity from beneath the blanket to tap gingerly on the back of Jaime’s gold hand. “Sorry.” He mumbled apologies. “It’s just… it looks heavy.”

“It is.” The lion of Lannister confided.

“Does it hurt to carry that all day?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then why wear it? I thought it must be heavy because the crown is and I would rather not….”

“Tommen!”

The boy seized up at the shrill sound of his mother’s voice. Muscles tensing and eyes rounding in fear.

_The guard must have fetched her when I took over. Damn him._

“Why are you not asleep?” Cersei growled like a wild cat ready to pounce. All glowering beauty and crimson finery. Jaime could tell she had already been in her cups. Her words slurred ever so slightly at the ends.

“I… wanted to see the New Year.”

“Do I need to remind you of your duties tomorrow? The King addresses his people upon the First Day of the New Year. Must I fetch Pate?! I will have him flogged!”

“No Mother.” His golden locks bounced as he shook his head vehemently. “I had agreed to go to sleep.”

“He speaks truth Cersei.” Jaime rose from his bed, meeting his twin at eye level. “Leave him be.”

“Interfering Sweet Brother?” The lioness grit her teeth and snarled. “You would have the nerve to tell me how to raise **_my_** son. I will deal with you in a moment.”

“Why delay?” The knight challenged, keen to deflect her wine-soaked rage onto himself. “I will not await at your pleasure upon the Eve of the New Year so you can dole out my chastisement - and as you so eloquently pointed out His Grace needs his rest.” Sauntering towards the door, he held it wide open. “After you, My Queen.”

He knew she saw red, once there was a time he would never have rallied at her in such a manner. Worshipping the ground she trod upon and never questioning her judgment. It was her indignance at his gall which he knew would work. The way she whipped past him in a flurry of samite. Disappearing down the hall and into her chambers, expecting him to follow like a lost puppy.

_Time to face the music… but better I than Tommen._

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, she slapped him. The abhorrent sound of connecting flesh as he felt her claw-like nails.

“How dare you?!” She screeched. “Question me in front of Tommen! Meddle in matters which are none of your concern! I will not stand for such insubordination! You are but a guard to him! **_Nothing_** more!” 

Jaime affected nonchalance, leaning casually against the mantle as though her strike had been but the skim of a feather against his cheek, his tone dripping in sarcasm. “Well I do so apologise. I was unaware you would rather have His Grace roaming the halls at night with a halfwit on his heels. In future I will let him continue on…”

“There will be none of this behaviour ‘in the future’ for I will not tolerate it! I should have been summoned immediately and his disobedience been punished! What if you had been seen?! You would endanger him!”

“If I had been seen – what?” He shrugged. “His head guard and Uncle escorted him back to bed? Groundbreaking Cersei. Surely cause for concern.”

“You know full well the risks.” A malicious glint and a deadly whisper. “You had your chance when I offered you the position of Hand. You refused it. Running scared…..”

She sidled closer, wrath morphing into manipulation. “…but perhaps you regret your decision.” 

The sneer of her vermilion lips took on a seductive pout. Her voice all the sweeter, her phrasing chosen to coerce. “Rue the day you spurned my bed and generosity. Mourn your opportunity to join in our glory, miss my favours that you lost….” She walked two fingers suggestively up his chest. Once it would have made him putty in her hands, now he struggled not to recoil.

_How did I not see it before? Her veneer is parchment thin._

_This is not love - it is domination._

_Her desire was never me - only power._

Her manic changes in demeanour were more evident to him than ever. The twisted satisfaction she derived from believing she jerked him along on a string. “…tell me brother.” He could feel the moisture of her inebriated breath on his ear and its cold emptiness was enough to make him shudder. “Did you really lose your cock after your hand?” 

She moved to cup his crotch but he caught her wrist before it made contact.

_No, sweet sister. The only person who has ever emasculated me - was you._

Releasing her, Jaime forced himself to smile, fooling her for an instant. Making her overblown vanity truly believe she and this shallow, destructive force she wrongly labelled love was all he could ever want.

But then he gave it a dagger’s edge. Slicing through her false façade with fatalistic accuracy.

“You will never know.”

Jaime breezed from her chamber as she showered blows down upon him. Balled fists lashing out against his chest then back. Screaming profanities and raging. Calling him every pathetic, spineless, eunuch under the sun.

Although they made contact, their pain was ineffective, the flailing of a drowning woman. She was sinking, in an alcoholic vat of depravity, power and ego. Whilst he was emancipated. Free from the effectiveness of her control which she had exploited and fostered within him for decades.

It gave him immense pleasure that Cersei would never know what liberated him. Writing it off as his own failings, lack of ambition or cowardice.

But it was not….

For true emotion once stirred would always trump falsity. And his heart could now determine the difference. 

/*\/*\/*\/*\

The sharpness of the night air bit with razored teeth. The shock of stepping from the snug toastiness of the spiralled stairwell sheltered by brick and heated by sconces into the icy nip of a winter’s Eve.   
  
Jaime shouldered his cloak further around him, the motion made more awkward by the supplies he juggled in his arms. Two fur blankets, a pillow, a carafe and goblet. Necessities to hunker down until the New Year. Escape was what he craved, something real when compared to the superficiality and pretence which infested the sprawling Keep below. And if he must flee to a rooftop to find it, brave the freezing conditions and solitude…

_Well it will still be warmer up here than it was in there._

  
  
Inhaling and acclimatising to the fangs of frost he stepped forward, surveying the opaque infinity of the heavens above. The Gods had blessed Westeros with a clear night at least, the blizzards kept at bay providing a rare break in the weather. The distant winking observers once more staring down at him with their silent judgment.  
  
Beauteous were they. Constant as the dawn.   
Reliable in their predictability and structure. For years people had attempted to divine their purpose looking to them for the future, others reading a map of the past.  
For Jaime Lannister they were witnesses. All seeing eyes which watched him with scrutiny. Such consistency and perfection almost tarnished by peering down upon his unworthy form.

  
  
Fresh starts he sought. New beginnings to follow bitter ends. 

But did the stars believe in redemption?

Could they in their silver and gold solemnity by rights forget all they had seen?  
Wipe the slate clean. 

  
  
Was that their purpose each dusk? Appearing renewed. A rebirth each evening, enabling them to continue their lustrous shine?

  
For surely those who had been forced to observe all the terrors of the darkness night after night, spanning the course of millennia, could assuredly not continue to sparkle so brilliantly. 

They would be dulled by the devastation and slowly let their light fade. Like the glow of the miserable soul below them. Or were they indeed symbols of metamorphosis, emerging from the darkness just when there seemed no hope. Was that their message for him?

  
  
Their map at least was reliable, their arrangement assured. Whenever Jaime craned his neck high, he could forget his current circumstances or location. For the reflection above was always the same. They had peered through the open Sept window as a boy knelt at the shrine of the Warrior with bloodied knees and ambitious heart. They had frowned upon a sinner, slipping stealthily into a seedy tavern, a teenager eager and unknowing how he was about to ruin his life. They had watched as a newly handless wretch lamented his choices and cursed his miserable existence....  
  
_But at least then I had her. I was bound to the wench and she was warm. Her breath foul but comforting against my fevered cheek._

  
  
It was passing odd how two sensations could dwell synonymously in the same memory. A nostalgic longing buried amongst the trauma of that abstract hell. A slice of heaven to sustain him, which surprisingly did not come from above - but beside. Body heat, lumbering, bruised and bloodied; but also kind, nurturing and cosy. He had not appreciated it then how he should have. How it felt to be cared for. Perhaps he did not recognize it. Was preconditioned to believe that kindness was subservient to passion. That love was best served with a dollop of cruelty. If it didn't hurt, it wasn't real. 

But that wasn't true. That was Cersei’s snare. A choke collar of her own devising. A concoction for torture and influence which would strangle him should he ever choose to escape...  
  
_But tonight I did it - as I have many times over the past year. The pattern is broken. And I have my overwhelming love for an authentic woman to thank for it._

 _  
_  
It swelled inside his chest when he recollected Brienne's first gentle touch. How he immediately drew it's parallel to the only other woman who had held him intimately. 

_Gentler than Cersei._

The warrior maiden was the Queen’s superior in so many ways. Yes, her looks were indisputable, she was mannish, ungainly and large. But when it came to the finer arts of womanhood – of compassion and tenderness. Of empathy and kindness. Brienne of Tarth was exemplary. 

  
What foolish men there were in the world. What pieces of shit like Connington. The dolts would never know of the sweet strokes of her healing hands, her soft palm upon a clammy brow, of fingers sluicing and combing water through a beard encrusted by vomit.   
  
**_That_** _is a woman. And to think I was almost one of those imbeciles. If it hadn't been for the loss of my hand I would never know._

_Speaking of which..._

  
  
The blankets had begun unfolding and slipping from his gold handed grasp. Jaime lifted his knee to bolster the bundle higher, readjusting his grip and striding out into the night to find his spot beneath the stars.  
  
_If they knew what was in my heart, the love I wish to bestow, maybe just maybe they would find a way to forgive...  
  
_

In the dim, he laid out the first blanket, clearing stray patches of snow and cushioning the hard stone. Chuckling quietly to himself, thinking how it was still luxury compared to the dungeons at Riverrun. Pouring himself a glass of wine and toasting the air.

“To seeing in the New Year with the only person who can tolerate me – me.” He took a slug. “And even that assertion is a stretch. I can’t stomach myself half the time.” He decided in that moment to make it his mission to find the bottom of the goblet but was pleasantly interrupted before he could accomplish his goal.

“It seems even those who seek to spare others from our morose companionship are thwarted.”

Jaime knew her voice. The deep tones accented by noble elocution at contrast to her hulking frame. He rotated wildly towards its origin, squinting to locate her as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

“Do the Gods wish to make kindness an insurmountable task?”

It was her blue eyes he first perceived. Gleaming in the limited light. Rivals of the ocean in both their magnificent size and shade.

She had wedged herself between two parapets, a long cloak draped over the majority of her body, from broad shoulders to peaks of knees, only boots remaining visible where they braced against the brick. Her limp blonde hair windblown in a way that Jaime saw as artful. 

_All the better to frame those sapphires…_

“I am surprised to find you here.” Jaime sauntered closer, trying to restrain his smile. If it were too broad, she would consider it mockery, never for an instant drawing the true conclusion for his joy.

As it was, a crease formed on her forehead. “Here upon the rooftop or in King’s Landing?”

“Both.”

“Ah.” She nodded despondently. “The Maester said that Podrick requires further recovery. I will not depart without him.”

It made sense. The boy had suffered at the hands of the Brotherhood. His recovery would not be swift. Jaime could not help his next enquiry, nor the sourness that crept into his speech. “And what of the other member of your party?”

“Ser Hyle?”

“Yes.” His answer was clipped. Jaime misliked the man immensely. There was something about him that was _off._ Of course, he hadn’t done anything to the Lion of Lannister directly. He would not be so stupid. But still the golden knight reserved the right to be rankled by his mere presence, irked by the existence of such a lowlife in Brienne’s orbit. He simply didn’t deserve to pivot around her sun.

_Neither do I - but that is beside the point._

The Lady of Tarth raised her shoulder with disinterest. “It is New Year’s Eve. He is probably wading his way through a tide of women and ale at a brothel. No matter, it is of complete indifference to me.”

_Oh good, she doesn’t like him either._

Jaime brightened considerably, glad that the absence of the scum wasn’t the cause of her malaise.

Closing the distance, he leant against the brick parapet in front of her, alighting his goblet on its flat top and folding one muscular leg over the other. Letting her know through his body language that he was settled in for the long haul. “Then my follow up question would be – why are you out here? Freezing your arse off?”

“I’m doing as I should this night – reflecting upon the year that was.” She stared out into the abyss. Across the pinpricks which were a myriad of hearth fires. “I have been exalted as a hero since arriving here. Hailed for my bravery and righteous deeds. Slaying Lady Stoneheart, dispersing the Brotherhood – saving you.” She sighed. “All my life I have sought to prove my worth and instead it comes from betraying the woman to whom I was avowed. It does not rest easy upon my conscience. Life certainly has an obscure affinity with irony.” 

“That is does.” He agreed. “But I warned you of such many moons ago remember?”

“Yes. That is when we were hostile towards each other. Now sparing you is the sole thing from that list of which I am proud.” She peeked at him shyly. “Thank you for forgiving my deception.”  
“Thank you for sparing me. My head remains attached to my shoulders to see in another year – I therefore consider us even.”

They slipped into a comfortable silence and Jaime was surprised when it was the usually taciturn Brienne who spoke again. “I am sorry for ruining your plans of solitude.”

“Don’t be.” He smiled with his eyes, hoping the sincerity conveyed through. “When given the option of your company, I now realise being alone is the farthest thing from what I want.”

She appraised him doubtfully and chose not to reply.

After a stretch Jaime felt his tension ebbing, the blessing of Brienne’s companionship the most unexpected of graces. More than he would have dared to wish for on this starlit Eve.

_Perchance this was their answer – a divine machination in response to my unuttered prayer._

_If so, I thank you deities and in gratitude I will not squander your boon._

“How you do you know on Tarth when it strikes midnight?” He began conversation congenially, keen to encourage her to open up to him. “I am wondering if the practices are the same everywhere?”

“We monitor the progress of the Midnight Star.” Even in the dark, he detected how her mouth twitched upward slightly at the corners. Liking his interest in her homeland. “Many of our customs are based around their placement. Sailors use them to navigate and the Evenstar is from where we gain our title.”

_Another sign…. just as I contemplated their purpose, they delivered to me, my fate._

_This superlunary woman, a marriage of the stability of Earth with the ethereality of Sky._

_The future Evenstar, the celestial paragon of dependability, trining with the Moonmaid…_

“Which one is the Midnight Star?” Jaime’s octave was lower, his resonance the honey of a rapt suitor, crouching beside Brienne to follow her eyeline. Hanging off her every syllable. A curious suspicion passing over her intelligible features as she tried to decrypt his overt attentions.

“That one.” She pointed to a large silver beacon, climbing its steady ascent to the apex above. “It is named such as it reaches the zenith at precisely midnight. One of the reasons I chose to come out here was to track its progress.” 

“I like this idea… there is a certain romance to it.” He mentally chastised himself for his choice of wording. The way she scoffed lightly in her throat at the mention of such sentiment. It hurt him to realise she thought herself deterrent. The antidote to the emotions and overtures which a maiden generally conjured within a man.

_The affection which she alone manifests within me…_

Choosing to praise her intellect, he endeavoured to grant her a compliment she would accept. “You have taught me something I did not know My Lady. I am grateful.”

“I thought it common knowledge.” Ever self-effacing, she deflected his attempt at flattery by an abrupt change of subject. “How is midnight heralded in King’s Landing?”

“The Sept Bells chime. Twelves tolls for midnight. Quite unimaginative really. I like your method better.” Rising to his feet and stretching out his cramped calves, he tried to ignore how age and injuries past were beginning to catch up to him.

_When I was a young man I could kneel the whole night through or stay crouched awaiting my enemies, hidden amongst the wilderness, a lion ready to spring upon his prey._

_Now the cold creeps into my bones and my stamina begins to wane from squatting during a chat._

_Way to woo indeed – a prize am I. And very out of practice._

He paced a line, across the space in front of her, working out the kinks in his muscles, trying to pass off the entire scenario as keeping warm. Blowing on his gloved hand exaggeratedly and making remarks about the gelidity. Only Brienne’s eyes moved, following him backwards and forth as he wore a trail across the frosted stones, her countenance impassive but for the slight raising of a sceptical eyebrow.

_Damn Wench._

_She knows me too well - and she is over a decade my junior. I feel every year of it now._

Giving up, he traipsed back to his wine goblet, noting it was almost empty.

_I may be aging but I can still be gallant…._

Extending out his arm, he chivalrously offered her the remaining mouthfuls.

“I apologise that we must share a cup My Lady – if I had known we would be seeing in the New Year together I would have bought two. But I assure you the pitcher is full, plenty of refills to be had and if you wish you can share my blankets…” Grinning, he gestured towards the outstretched furs, knowing it was a long shot but delighted at the idea that she could lie next to him. “… I can think of far worse ways to welcome midnight.” 

The wench took a deep breath, her gaze flitting to the blankets, goblet, then back to his face. Searching for signs of a jape or the hint that his invitation was obligatory.

_She will say no – but I earnestly wish she wouldn’t._

After what felt like an eternity she huffed. “You will not find solace in the dregs of a wine chalice Ser Jaime. The New Year will come, whether its arrival is drenched with a vintage or not.”

He waggled the goblet enticingly in front of her. “No harm in easing the passage though.”

Brienne rolled her gigantic blue marbles, alighting from her position with an agility seldom afforded to one as tall as she.

_There she is - towering height, athletic prowess, a body which could bring me to my knees, both from desire and knocking me asunder._

_I bet in front of her I would not even feel the pain, so consumed with being at her service… And yet - she is about to leave._

His stomach dropped through the floor. His heart plummeting along for the ride.

Jaime wracked his brain, trying to contrive a reason for her to remain. Panic and disappointment numbing his thoughts, each plea dying upon his tongue before finding voice, sounding weak and poorly articulated even within his own mind.

The swordswench closed her massive hand around his own, pushing the cup back towards his chest, shaking her head in refusal. “Thank you just the same but I decline.” Chancing a pensive glance over towards his blankets she was overtaken with sheepishness. Hunching her shoulders slightly and avoiding his stare. “The place upon the furs however… I will accept.”

/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\

Ever the midnight star climbed. Steady in pace and gradual as the growth of foliage. Near imperceptible to the monitoring observer.

“I swear it hasn’t moved in the last half hour.” Jaime squinted melodramatically, tilting his head to side, using the guise of assuming a better vantage point to shuffle another inch closer to her body.

They lay on their backs upon the fur, greeted by limitless sky and gifted with the uninterrupted opportunity for conversation. Brienne chuckled, a sound scarcely heard from her dour mien, displaying a lack of inhibition which was rarer to find than a pearl within an oyster’s shell. A natural wonder unpredictable in its appearance - irregular and perfect in its appeal. “Be assured, it is moving. Perhaps if you can no longer tell it is best to look away. When you glance back its progress with become more evident.”

Their impromptu rendezvous had not possessed such ease from the onset. Beginning with them at opposite ends of the sole pillow, Brienne stiff and unmoving. Straight as a plank, taut as an archer’s bow – arms pressed straight down to either side. Jaime had not been able to suppress his snigger, comparing her to a maiden upon her wedding night and the analogy had startled her so, he thought she would up and leave. Azure orbs agog, jaw working, mouth flapping without sound. He had stopped her flight by flinging the top fur over her knees, assuring her he jested and telling her to relax. Crooning the way you would to settle a flighty horse, startled by a flock of birds, bursting from the trees.

The slow unwinding of her rigidity had been akin to the meandering amble of the star upon its ecliptic trek. An unhurried lowering of guards, forgetting of restraint and self-consciousness. After the first hour he had even persuaded her to partake of the odd sip of wine – but she never did seem to develop a palate for it.

Turning fully on his side and propping himself up on his elbow, Jaime welcomed her suggestion. The reprieve from gaping pointlessly at the sky giving him the opportunity to gawk slack-jawed at her instead.

_When I look upon her, love and awe harmoniously co-exist. The two concepts connate as ocean and sand. Meeting in the middle without divide._

_Now I understand how they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder – my admiration for her might, makes me see the splendour in her appearance. Appreciating the peculiar pieces which conjoin to form a superb, breathtaking whole._

_And fuck do I want to kiss her…_

“Do you have a resolution for the New Year?” Jaime had to clear his throat halfway through, his hoarse tone impeded by want.

“Yes.” She pursed her lips, remaining fixated upon the heaven’s above. Wriggling under the intensity of his gaze. “But I would prefer to keep it to myself.”

“That’s no fun.” Jaime pouted, nudging her shoulder and closing another inch in the gap. Gaining ground and victory in small increments. Now the breadth of empty blanket between them was no wider than his hand. “You can confide in me you know – I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

“No Jaime, my resolution is my own. I take my oaths very seriously, even the ones I make to myself.” She peered at him from the corner of her eye, blue depths visible over freckled cheek. Reminding him once more of salty grit sprinkled shorelines and calm lapping waters. “I would harbour it in my soul, maintaining its integrity through privacy.”

“Well perhaps if I share, it may inspire you to do the same.” He adjusted the position of his right arm beneath his head.

It was a strange feeling, connecting with just his stumped wrist. The raw, contorted skin a sight he usually avoided. But his gold hand had been removed at Brienne’s insistence earlier. The caring way she thought of his comfort and offered to assist. She had unwound the straps herself, long fingers making quick work of the intricate patterns his Squire’s had taken weeks to learn.

He had been abashed at first, not wanting her to see his disfigurement, his default reaction to hide it from the world. But the warrior maiden had not shied away, seeing him cringe and talking to him as she released the last of the binds, placing aside the prosthetic, rolling away the protective sock.

“Do you think a few scars will revolt me Ser? You may conceal your torn flesh beneath this grandiose display of wealth. Cover it up so men still view you with veneration and fear. But I wear the gnarled maroon rivers upon my face each day. There can be no hiding from people’s reactions, nor shield for my feelings.” Tossing her head majestically, she had let her hair fall back from her cheek, unveiling the hideous bite mark to him in all its grotesque cruelty. “Be equal to me this night. I think no less of you for a stump and perhaps seeing your flaws exposed as readily as mine may make my load a little lighter.”

She had then rubbed over the indentations upon his wrist with her thumb, smoothing out the lines where the leather twine had dug in. Her touch just as glorious as he remembered and Jaime fought the urge not to groan and feel the sensations of his forearm echoed in his groin.

Now as he spoke, he noticed another of her marks. The permanent bruise of a rope necklace, where a noose had buried sickeningly into her ivory flesh, trying to snatch her from him.

“In truth my resolution was made halfway through the year… it has just - taken on more prevalence tonight. Like some preternatural forces are at work, making it all come to a head.” Absentmindedly his remaining hand began to act of its own accord. Taking initiative while his rational self was otherwise occupied in divulging to her his epiphany. His index finger tracing the dark line of burn, beginning from below her ear and running down her jaw, in the indent of her neck.

Only fully registering his own actions when she shivered beneath his touch, her breath coming more quickly, her pupils enlarging.

_She welcomes my caress…._

Delighted more than the phrasings his military mind could compose, lacking talent in the ways of poetry, sonnet and song. He endeavoured to disclose the true beatings of his heart, the intention behind his confession and affectionate strokes.

“My resolution centres around following my heart. Letting it lead me towards the love I feel and following where it beats. Fuck allegiances, fuck familial codes, fuck my unscrupulous past. Love has been my ultimate dream and now I know I’ve found it – real, true, genuine, the type that pales every misconception I have ever had before about the emotion - I will follow it to the ends of the Earth. And beyond.” He left no distance between them now, eyes wide and imploring so she knew he spoke of her. “I do not want to waste a second of the New Year. I do not even want to wait another moment.” 

Lowering his head, he replaced his fingertip with his lips. Kissing the scar which could have stolen her from him. A ringed reminder of how precious their lives were and how squandering this magnitude of emotion would be a crime. From end to end his lips smouldered a trail – kisses, nips and flicks of tongue. His wench beneath his mouth, in all her faultless peculiarity, her warmth once again seeping into his body through the contact, fortifying his veins with life affirming heat.

“Jaime!” She gasped; a slight admonishment evident in her tone as she pushed him back. Panting as crooked teeth raked her plump lip. Bewilderment, caution and yearning cantering across her dappled plains.

“What is your resolution Brienne?” His emeralds searched her turbulent seas, uncertain whether upon their choppy tide he would find smooth sailing or capsize. But he was intrepid, hell bent upon this voyage, traversing the Straits to find safe haven in the bay of her bosom, whether the passage be long or short, whether his vessel be blessed with favourable winds or dashed to pieces upon the jagged edges which armoured her heart. 

The Maid of Tarth sighed, her blue eyes wide, reflecting the midnight star as it neared the zenith. Weighing her decision carefully before making her declaration with certitude.

“My resolve is to pursue what I want for once.” She seemed shamefaced, as though she thought herself selfish to utter such a desire aloud. “I always serve others, I put their needs before my own.” 

Jaime’s voice was a husky rasp. “And what do you want?”

She gulped. He watched the muscles in her throat constrict, swallowing her insecurities along with a surge of timidity. Tilting her chin skyward and extending to him the long alabaster pillar of her neck.

“Do that again.” It was a yearning plea and he was happy to accommodate.

It did not take long for his lips to grow discontent with travelling the same chartered line. Extending upwards, over the ridge of her jaw to find her mouth. Licking at the joining of her sealed lips, his tongue knocking upon her door, asking for him to be let in.

With a luxurious moan he was permitted entry, the maiden eager to be kissed. Hungrily accepting him with parted lips and clutching arms, which were soon instinctually followed by spreading thighs. She grabbed at his laces as he fumbled with her own, urgently untying each other from their binds of shirt and breeches. Divesting them of layers symbolic of the past, who they were before they knew how it felt to hold each other.

Brienne whimpered when she saw the bruises burgeoning upon his skin, outlining them with her large benign hands and pressing lips against the blossoming purple. As though she could kiss away the marks inflicted by a savage woman’s wrath.

“Do not despair My Wench.” He soothed her with a timbre of peace and contentment. The assertions of a man found, coming home at long last. “They will fade from me, as she has. From now and for forever, I am yours alone.”

The Midnight Star reached the highest point. Clicking into place as naturally as those who it shone down upon. Fitting where was right, where they were always destined to be.

The Sept Bells rang clear and emphatic, twelve chimes loud enough to make buildings shake, bouncing off brick and drowning out the cries of mutual ecstasy from the newly made lovers upon the rooftop. Trembling along with the stone as they took their pleasure in one another and began 301AC as they intended to spend the rest of their lives – facing the world together.


End file.
